Shadowdance 05 - A Dance of Ghosts (7 page)

“No,” Haern said, and this time Thren’s answer would not suffice. “No, they won’t.”

Boots thudding upon the packed dirt, he raced along the road. After a moment, his sprint settled into a jog, and he focused on keeping his breathing steady. He kept his eyes straight ahead, staring at the smoke, trying a hundred times to decide its meaning. Was it just a campfire? A message? Was it only the orcs and he was acting like a fool?

He looked back only once, and when he did, he saw his father following.

Thren caught up to him after the first mile. Both of them were winded, but Haern pushed on, knowing if the camp was not yet under attack, it would be soon. The sun continued to set, and in his gut he knew that if the orcs were to attack, they’d do so after nightfall, perhaps several hours after to ensure all were asleep. Assuming whoever built the campfire wasn’t alone and easy prey.

Damn it,
thought Haern.
Too much I don’t know. We should have taken them out when we had the chance!

“You’re going to get yourself killed trying to save everyone,” Thren said as they climbed their way up one of the hills.

“Thought weakness was what would kill me?”

Thren let out a laugh.

“They’re the same thing, you fool. Now run harder, or must an old man show up a youngster?”

And then he was ahead of Haern, pushing himself on, and to Haern’s shock, there was a smile on his face. Sucking in breaths, cloaks billowing behind them, they both chased the smoke in the distance as the sun settled down behind the trees, and out came the stars. As they neared, Haern realized the smoke came from the same hill as the first ambush, and for a moment, he felt relief. Perhaps it was only the orcs, camping where they had before, and no one was in danger. He mentioned the idea to Thren, who chuckled.

“We’ll still kill them,” he said. “I didn’t run all this way
not
to get blood on my blades.”

Haern slowed to a walk, and Thren did the same. They were at the base of the hill, and as they climbed, they both needed to recover their breath. His sides were cramping, his legs sore, but Haern knew he could push himself harder if he needed to. There was no limit to his body he’d not been trained to break.

Halfway up the hill, they heard the first shouts over the din of the cicadas. It was the orcs, there was no doubt to that, and they sounded in a jovial mood. Haern drew his sabers, his father his short swords, and together they veered into the trees to ensure no one spotted their approach. Amidst all the hooting and hollering, Haern knew their stomping through the brush would go unnoticed, and he quickened his lead, until at last they reached the crest.

He’d expected the orcs to be feasting, perhaps wrestling and fighting or doing whatever it was they did, but instead he saw two wagons and a fire burning between them. The orcs had formed a circle surrounding the camp, their weapons held up into the air as they mocked those inside. Haern crept closer, baffled.

“Why don’t they attack?” he asked, slipping even closer.

“They have,” Thren said, crouched beside him as together they moved through the trees. He pushed aside a low branch, then pointed. “Look there, by the left wagon.”

Sure enough, he saw two orc bodies crumpled at the entrance. It was odd, for they were clearly dead, yet there were no marks on their skin, no blood pooled beneath them. Haern tried to see if he could spot any survivors, but they were no doubt cowering hidden behind the thick white canvas that covered the wagons.

“Something’s spooked the orcs,” Thren said. “Looks like they might be doing a bit of yelling and screaming to prepare themselves for another charge.”

Haern took another step, putting him almost to the edge of the clearing. To his left and right were two orcs, both holding large axes above their heads and screaming out profane things they planned to do to the bodies of whoever was inside the wagons. He put his blades to the ground, felt the cold grass bunch beneath his knuckles.

“If we hit hard, we can scatter them before they know we’re here,” he said.

“Better to kill them all now and leave no chance for them to escape,” Thren said. “I’ll sneak over to the other side, find where they seem most careless. Once there, I’ll wait for your signal.”

“My signal?” Haern asked. “I thought you said all this was folly?”

“It is,” Thren said. “And it’s your folly, so you can choose when we strike. I trust you to know when the time is right.”

Haern opened his mouth, closed it, then remained crouched beneath one of the low-hanging branches as his father hurried away, fading into a gray blur in the night.

Later,
he told himself, turning his attention back to the clearing. The circle around the two wagons was slowly tightening, the shouting intensifying. Haern spotted their leader, Gremm, near the middle of the path, clanging together two swords above his head in a bid to gain their attention.

“No devil magic will keep us back!” Gremm hollered. “No pitiful human trickery will keep us from dragging you screaming from those wagons! We’ll cook you over your own fire, won’t we? Won’t we!”

The orcs cheered in affirmative.

“Come on out,” Gremm continued. “Fall down on your knees, and we’ll make all you die quick instead of slow. Quick now, or slow later. I’ll make you watch us eat you, I fucking swear it by the spirit of the Scorpion!”

Haern saw movement from one of the wagons, and he rose to his feet knowing he had to strike before anyone threw away their lives. He looked to the orc on his left, then right, to decide who he would strike first, and that’s when the blinding white light hit. It came from the wagon, a great flash that burned into his eyes and made it seem like the brightest of days had descended upon the hill. Turning away and jamming his eyes shut, Haern let out a cry from the pain.

A priest of Ashhur?
he wondered. That explained why they were not yet overrun. He opened his eyes, saw spots swimming in his vision, but he knew the orcs would be suffering far worse than he. Already one of them fell dead, a golden sword materializing in the air and slashing through his body. The others groaned, stumbling and crying out their fury. Haern took in a breath, gripped his sabers tight. The time to attack was now.

He gave no war cry, no challenge to frighten the orcs, nor a signal to alert his father. Their deaths would be enough to send Thren into action. He sprang to his feet, leaping toward the orc on his right. His right arm extended, thrusting the tip of his blade through the side of the orc’s neck, and then he turned to the left, yanking free his sword so that blood and gore flew through the air. Both weapons, one clean, one smeared red, crashed down atop the orc’s back and shoulder, catching him in mid-turn after hearing the first’s gargled cry of pain.

As the orc fell, Haern looked to the far side of the camp, and he saw two more drop, his father appearing behind them like a specter. Meanwhile, the rest let out cries of fury, and Gremm led the charge toward the two wagons. Haern caught Thren’s eye for only the briefest moment, but he saw his nod and the implied strategy. Thren would guard the wagon nearest him, while Haern would go for the one where the flash originated. Breaking into a run, Haern charged after the battle-raging orcs, needing to kill more before they could realize his arrival and turn. The first one he caught he sliced through the hamstring, then danced over the body as it rolled. The second he came up alongside, then leaped into the air, twirling as he did. His sabers sliced cleanly through the orc’s throat, and then Haern landed on the opposite side, still running.

Their cries of pain were enough to alert the others, though, and several turned to face him, bringing their weapons to bear. Outnumbered four to one, Haern never even slowed. As their crude swords and axes swung, he leaped into the air, extending his legs to slam his heels into the chest of the leftmost orc. His momentum carried both to the ground, and despite the jarring hit to his knees, Haern immediately dashed away, cloak spread wide to disguise his movement. An ax failed to hit Haern, instead burying itself in the chest of the fallen orc and ceasing his angry protests. Upon landing, Haern tucked his shoulder and rolled once, then exploded back out in a flurry of slashes. The first two batted out wide an orc’s sword, the third slipped between his ribs and into a lung, and the fourth cut across the jugular vein in his throat for good measure.

“Stop him!” one of the orcs screamed, and Haern knew he had to up his pace. Instead of avoiding the remaining two orcs, Haern charged right at them, getting in closer despite their superior strength. One chopped with an ax, and as he sidestepped it, the other thrust with his sword. Twisting again, Haern found himself between the two, each overextended and unable to defend themselves. Spreading his arms out wide, he spun, cutting one orc across the eyes and giving the other a gash across the shoulder that seemed to only infuriate his opponent.

His spin ended with him facing them both, and as one clutched at his eyes, Haern kicked him in the groin, parried a second thrust from the sword, and then finished off the first with a stab that went through the orc’s fingers and into his already wounded eyes.

“I said stop him already!” shouted the same orc, and Haern realized it was Gremm. Heart pounding in his chest, he turned to face a mad rush of five orcs, with Gremm watching behind them with his weapons crossed above his head and banging together. A quick glance at the wagon showed that those within were being completely ignored, and Haern felt relief. They’d stolen away their attention. Now he just had to live.

Just before the orcs reached him, he spun, flinging the intersecting parts of his cloak into a bewildering array. There’d be no way for them to predict his movements, and that was exactly what he was counting on. Two more steps and he dashed straight at them, even though the last they’d seen of him, he’d made it appear he was preparing to retreat.

Each of his swords stabbed the chest of an orc, and he drove them both to the ground while they screamed in pain. His left hand released, and he rolled while yanking out the right. Coming out of the roll, he slammed the saber into the knee of the orc beside him, then sliced upward as he turned and ran four steps. The distance was all he needed, for when he spun, he caught one orc chasing him ahead of the others, ax raised to the sky. Haern cut his throat, kicked his dying body into the way of the others, and then grabbed the fallen ax.

“Come die,” Haern told them, readying both weapons. The ax was heavy, but he had no intention of using it for long. Only two remained to attack him, and one of them was limping from the cut across his leg and knee. Haern faded to his left as they hacked at him, blocking a downward slash with his sword and shoving the orc’s sword out of position, freeing up an easy hit with his ax. He buried it in the shoulder, snapping the orc’s collarbone and splattering blood across his chest. Leaving the ax there, Haern turned on his final foe, who screamed at the top of his lungs in a vain attempt to intimidate.

Haern clutched his sword with both hands, blocked two simple swings, and then finished off his opponent with a riposte that ended with the blade of his saber deep in the orc’s belly. When he yanked it free, he kicked the orc across the face to send him to the ground to die.

His lone saber dangling from his hand, Haern approached Gremm, who stared at him with a mixture of hatred and abject horror.

“What are you?” Gremm asked, lifting his swords and preparing to fight. “Why attack us?”

Haern yanked his other saber free from a corpse as he walked past, not even slowing his walk.

“Because I wanted to,” Haern said, and he grinned as he realized he was parroting his father’s words. “That reason not good enough?”

Gremm swung both his swords in a dual chop, and when Haern blocked, he realized how much smarter it’d have been to just dodge. The orc was incredibly strong, and his swords connected with his sabers in a ringing clang that jarred his arms and hurt his elbows. Gremm took a step closer, trying to ram him with his shoulder while their weapons were interlocked, but Haern was the faster. Instead of avoiding, he slammed his shoulder right back into Gremm, and as they hit, Haern rolled along his body, spinning as fast as his feet could allow. Coming out of the turn, he slashed for Gremm’s neck, but the orc was quicker than the others. Around went his swords, parrying away Haern’s finishing hit.

“You’re fast,” Gremm said, slashing again. Haern, never one to consider himself a slow learner, hopped back and out of the way. “But I am strong. Stronger than you!”

“Perhaps,” Haern said, catching movement from the corner of his eye at the wagon. “But I have better friends.”

He closed his eyes as another brilliant flash surged across the battlefield. As Gremm screamed, Haern slipped both his sabers between the orc’s defenses, then jammed them upward through his chest and into his neck. The orc lifted his swords to strike, but the blood was draining out of him fast, and his legs gave way before he could swing. The weapons hit the ground with a thud, followed by the orc and a much heavier thud. Haern stepped back, shook blood from his sabers. A quick look to the other wagon showed Thren finishing off the last of the orcs, chasing down two that had turned to flee.

“Well, then,” Haern said, walking toward the wagon he’d defended. “I daresay you all owe me a…”

He froze as a woman hopped out from the back of the wagon, red hair falling down past her neck and a smile on her lips.

“I was wondering if you’d show up,” said Delysia, and as the rest of the survivors piled out of the wagon, relieved men and women in plain clothes and dresses, she flung her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.

“…thank you?” Haern said, and as the rest surrounded him, eager to offer their thanks, he glanced back to the other wagon in search of his father, found him at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed over his chest, bloody swords leaning against a tree.

Strangely enough, he was still smiling.

I
t was the pins that were the worst of it. Ghost had endured stabbings before, broken bones, and brutal beatings. Those he’d always known how to black out in his mind, to ignore as if they were happening to someone else. But the gentle touchers were too clever and too patient. As he wandered down the street, his entire body wrapped in a thick robe with a heavy hood, he could still hear the sick words of the man first sent to torture him after he’d been found dying in Leon Connington’s room.